The Weight of Emptiness
by sophiedoodle
Summary: Kathryn struggles to deal with Voyager's return to Earth.


**The Weight of Emptiness**

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager, characters, etc.

Captain Kathryn Janeway stood in her darkened quarters on Voyager, halfheartedly picking through a pile of assorted objects, tossing some items into a container next to her on the table while discarding others, seemingly at random as she didn't appear to really be paying much attention to what she was doing. As soon as the initial pandemonium of Voyager's return had settled, she had beamed back to the ship to collect her things, not knowing when her next opportunity might come. It was quiet without the crew, without even the engines, and only a bare minimum of life support was operating.

It didn't even seem like her ship.

It was like returning to a one-night hotel to collect your belongings—nothing familiar and yet everything just as you'd left it. A stale cup of coffee on the living room table, a crumpled uniform on the bedroom floor.

And a heart that stubbornly refused to leave the only real home it had ever known.

Why was she feeling like this? For seven long—interminable at times—years, she had worked for this, wished for this, sacrificed everything within her just for this moment, this place that once had meant everything to her.

She had stepped into Starfleet Headquarters with the rest of the crew, and the intensity of their welcome had slammed into her with the force of a photon torpedo. Cheering, hugging, crying, congratulating. Families and reporters everywhere. The long-lost Voyager crew had finally come home. It was a celebration of the utmost proportions.

And yet she had never felt quite so alone in all of her life.

Her mother had been there, beaming, and her sister, Phoebe, with her husband and children. The two little ones had run to her, throwing their chubby arms around her knees and crying out, "Aunt Katie! Aunt Katie!" She should have been overjoyed, simply overwhelmed at the _rightness_ of it all, she should have been…well, anything but what she was.

Which was absolutely devastated.

At first, she analyzed herself and decided her reactions were normal. Just a crashing down of all the hopes and fears and stress of the past seven years out in the Delta Quadrant. She was merely unable to contain everything that had happened all at once. Her reasoning made sense, and she endeavored to focus on what was going on around her. There were plenty of people to talk to, and she was never once by herself throughout the following three hours, whether it was her family, the families of her crew, or the officials of Starfleet Command. It was chaos, plain and simple. After the congratulations and excited chatter had wound down, everyone had headed to the temporary lodgings that Starfleet had provided for the next few weeks as the Voyager crew was questioned and debriefed, and as the fates of the Maquis and Equinox survivors were debated and discussed.

When everything was finally quiet, Kathryn had stood still in the middle of the vast lobby at Headquarters, just gazing out the floor-to-ceilings windows that offered a panoramic view of San Francisco and of the stars in the sky. She could vaguely see the lights of Voyager in the distance, tethered at Utopia Planetia, bereft of its crew, its mission, its purpose. Just like she now was. The weight of all those years of being the captain of a ship like Voyager, a ship possibly lost forever in the Delta Quadrant 70,000 light years from home and family, had been finally, painstakingly, lifted from her shoulders. And yet, somehow, the loss of that weight was like an anvil to her soul, crushing her with its burden of emptiness.

The chime of the door startled her out of her reverie, and she dropped the book she was holding with a thump to the floor. She vaguely thought to ask the computer who had returned to the ship but realized she already knew.

"Come in," she called with a sigh.

Chakotay stood still for a long moment, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the doorway of her quarters, his face half-lit by the illumination from the hallway behind him. Then he took a few tentative steps into the room. His eyes were watching her carefully so she turned her back on him and continued sorting through her belongings.

"You did it, Captain," he said softly. "You got us home." She retrieved the book from the floor and flung it into the container and then tossed an old trinket she had collected somewhere along their journey into the discard pile. Finally, when she could handle the silence no longer, she turned to confront her former First Officer.

"Yes, I did," she answered just as quietly. She held her breath for a moment, trying to stop herself but the rest of her words spilled out anyway. "But at what price?" Her voice broke on the last word, and she inwardly cursed herself for her weakness in front of him of all people. She had forgotten he was no longer her best friend, her confidante, _her angry warrior_. He was Seven's.

Furious with herself, she threw a random PADD onto her bed and walked back to her bedroom, not wanting to face him until she had gotten her emotions under control. Of course, he followed as she had known he would and had hoped he wouldn't.

"Kathryn?" he murmured, coming up behind her and placing a hand gently on her back. She flinched and immediately hated herself for it. There had been a time—not so long ago—that his touch was like home to her, an anchor that brought her back when her day-to-day life on Voyager tossed her into the crashing waves of uncertainty and despair.

"Kathryn." He said her name again. No one else said it like he did, and she felt herself slipping. _Hold on to the anger. Use it, Kathryn. _It had saved her many times from giving in to her emotions as a captain. "What do you mean, at what price? You've gotten us home, safe and sound. Everyone is rejoicing. We're with our families, we're back on Earth. It's what everyone's been waiting for, working for all these years."

"The _price_, Commander," she said nastily, "is what it has taken to get us all back here to Earth. The price is all the crew members who didn't make it back with us, all the years of loneliness and isolation that no one can ever go back and fill, all the sacrifices, the broken rules, the times when we knew we shouldn't do what we were doing yet we did it anyway. _That_ is the price. And now that we're back I don't know if it was all worth it. Who have we become now?" Chakotay stepped closer to her, and she could feel the heat from his body against her back, his concern burning into her.

"Are you talking about the crew?" he asked gently. "Or about yourself?"

She wanted to hit him. To hit him over and over until she finally stopped feeling so angry and let down by this return to Earth. _By him_. "Maybe I _am_ talking about myself, Chakotay! Maybe I _am_ talking about all that I have done and undone and sacrificed these past seven years to get this ship and this crew home! About every particle of guilt I have laid across my own shoulders since the Caretaker, about everything in my life that I lost by being gone for so long, about the million things I have had to deny myself over the years because it was more important to remain the captain, to remain the one in control, the one everyone could look to, the one who wasn't afraid and never gave up hope, not even for a millisecond! Yes, this is about me! About who I've become—someone I never thought I would be. Never thought I could be. Cold, distant, emotionless, self-righteous, vindictive, prideful—the list could go on. And then seeing the Admiral just let me know that it only gets worse." She took a deep breath and then glared at him. "You should have shoved me out an airlock when you had the chance!" She removed herself from his closeness and stomped over to her closet, yanking assorted uniforms and civilian clothing from the hangers and tossing them across her bed.

Behind her, she heard Chakotay start to laugh. She whirled around, furious, spearing him with the death glare that had become somewhat of a famous phenomenon throughout her years in Starfleet. And then her anger failed her. She started to laugh, too. Then she began to cry. Finally, she settled for crossing her arms tightly across her chest, hoping he recognized it as the universal body language for "stay away from me."

Chakotay's eyes were serious now as he regarded her, standing tearful and defiant in front of the closet.

"Kathryn," he said simply, "what is this _really_ all about?"

For a moment she didn't understand, and then the tears stopped and the furious words burst forth from her, white-hot in her throat. "It should have been me, Chakotay, on that Borg ship. The Admiral sacrificed herself so we could all get home, she let herself be taken by the Borg so we could make it back to Earth. But it should have been me making that final sacrifice. Then I truly would have done all I could for this crew. For my family." The last words came out in a whisper.

"Oh, Kathryn." Chakotay's voice was hoarse with emotion, and he stepped towards her, reaching out to her. But her next words stopped him.

"_Then_ I wouldn't have to know what it's like to _truly_ lose everything." She stared at him for a long moment; then her lips started to tremble. Slowly, almost as if they were following choreography, her knees buckled beneath her, and Captain Kathryn Janeway sank to the floor.

Chakotay was beside her in a second. He cradled her on his lap, rocking her gently, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, even her lips once or twice. And she cried. Hard. He held her tirelessly, wordlessly, until at least a part of her had come back to herself. When the tears became less torrential, she tried to pull away, but he merely pressed her head back to his chest, and she let him, remembering somewhere deep inside of her that he was her safety, her port in the storm.

When she tried to apologize, he merely shook his head without speaking and pressed a finger to her lips, still rocking her back and forth, back and forth. Part of her wanted nothing more than to stay encircled in his arms like this forever, and part of her wondered if he was ever going to let her go. She didn't know what to say to him at this point, truly had no idea of how to disentangle herself from this situation.

Then she vaguely heard the doors to her quarters whoosh open, and a voice called out Chakotay's name.

"In here, Seven," he replied, and Kathryn froze. Before she could move a muscle, Seven had walked into her bedroom.

"Chakotay, the computer said you were in—" Seven stopped, her eyes taking in the scene before her. "Captain."

"Seven," she began, but Chakotay was already standing up, gently setting her on the floor and motioning to Seven to follow him into the living room.

"What are you doing here, Seven?" She heard him ask, kindly yet with a touch of impatience.

"I—I missed you. The transporter operator said you'd beamed to Voyager so I thought…" Seven's voice trailed off uncertainly. "I thought you'd be happy to see me. That you might enjoy some company." Chakotay sighed.

"Seven," he said so quietly that Kathryn could barely hear him, "I told you I had some things I needed to work out tonight, and that I would see you for breakfast in the morning." There was a long moment of deafening silence from the living room, and then Seven finally spoke.

"I apologize for bothering you, Commander." Her voice was stiff yet somehow more vulnerable than Kathryn had ever heard it. "I am still unaccustomed to the protocols of dating relationships. Forgive my intrusion."

And then the doors whooshed once more, and Chakotay returned to the bedroom, an unreadable expression on his face. Kathryn immediately jumped up, wiping away the last remnants of her tears and smoothing her hair from her face.

"Chakotay, I'm sorry," she said. And, somehow, she meant it. She no longer wanted to hurt him. The pain she felt was more than enough for her. "Please, go to her, and explain. Or I can talk to her if you think-"

"Come here, Kathryn," Chakotay said.

"But, Chakotay, you really should—"

"_Come here, Kathryn_." There was no question about it this time; it was an order. Which, to her surprise, she followed. They stood face to face.

"You're going to get through this, Kathryn. _We're _going to get through this. Together. The only way it should be." His eyes were suspiciously shiny, and she felt a familiar ache in her throat.

"But what about-" Her question was cut off when he suddenly and decisively pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips softly, yet possessively, to hers. And she forgot about being in the Alpha Quadrant again, and about the crew that hadn't made it with them, and about what she had given up for the past seven years, and all she thought about was the fact that, _finally_, she had come home.

When they came up gasping for air, Chakotay cupped her face in his hands and murmured, "I love you, Kathryn Janeway."

And, somehow, despite all the crying she'd done earlier, tears began to stream down her cheeks, and she reached up and held his hands to her face. "I love you, too, Chakotay." She heard him make a noise deep in his throat, somewhere between a moan and a sob, and his display of raw emotion only made her cry harder. "Although I don't know why you would want to be with me right now. I'm such a mess."

"Yes, you are," he agreed. "But a beautiful one." And then his mouth claimed hers again, and she forgot all about crying.


End file.
